When I was working at RAF Alconbury, a Japanese-American fellow worked for me, and I’d had a weekend on my own, so he invited me to go up to London with him for the day, and he’d show me around Chinatown, an area I wasn’t at all familiar with.
While there, he bought a few food items in the shops, specialty things to bring back to his room at the airbase, and one of those was this whole crab of some sort, and I remember him going through the refrigerated case, saying you had to get a female one full of eggs, and he was trying to show me what he was talking about, but I was getting sick to my stomach, so I went outside.
On the way back, on the train, without warning, he opened his sack, pulled out that crab, leaking water and crab juice all over everything, and started eating the thing like a damn hamburger, just taking big bites out of it and spitting hard bits out.
It stank, juice was running everywhere crabby bits flying, it was disgusting to me, and I grew up in a culture that routinely boiled the meat off pigs’ heads, so that’s saying something.
He had a lot of unusual habits like that, though. He did the same thing with chicken bones, just chewed right through them, and he’d leave milk to set out until it curdled, then drink it.
